Pitch Pines
by youneedtolightenup
Summary: I don't want to be here. I want to be home. I don't want to live in La Push. I want to be home. I don't want to live with my dad and his young-enough-to-be-my-sister girlfriend. I want to be home. I don't want to make friends here. I want to go home. I don't want to be attached to anything here. I just want to go home. Seth x OC imprinting story.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: Hi! This is the first story I have written for Twilight. I also have a story from ****The Dark Knight**** trilogy, so check that out if it seems like something you'd be into! This story will be about Seth imprinting on girl. Yes, she will have a "tragic past" (not really that bad). I know this is overused, but I had the idea and I had to get it out. Please review and let me know what you think. Seth will appear in the 2nd chapter, by the way. Thanks, enjoy!**

I hate this school.

I hate this town.

I hate these people.

I hate everything.

I was happy, oh so blissfully happy (not really, but if I pretend that I once felt that overwhelming joy, life doesn't hurt quite as bad), when I was home in New Jersey.

I had a few friends.

I was tolerated.

I didn't want to curl up and die. That's always a plus, right?

But anyway, the high school in La Push sucks ass. Actually, every school in this goddamn state probably sucks ass, because school here in La Push is just as bad, if not worse, than the public school in Seattle I went to for the first three semesters of freshman year.

And that school was awful.

Really, truly.

But at least in Seattle I blended in. Here in La Push, I honestly stick out like a zebra among lions. Lots, and lots of lions. I'm probably the only non-Native American person who goes to this school, or who even lives on the reservation, besides my dad.

And because my rather pale complexion contrasts oh so nicely with the lovely russet-toned skin of every other freaking person who goes to this god-forsaken school, I am easy to single out.

Which is probably the thing I want the least.

I prefer to keep to myself. I don't like attention. I never have, and never will. I fidget under complements. I turn bright red at conversation. People aren't really my forte.

So with every other student in La Push inexplicably amused by the outsider recently attending their school, I am bombarded by hundreds of questions, as well as an overwhelming amount of rude jokes.

I try to answer genuine questions about myself as politely as possible, perhaps even looking relatively friendly, depending on how sincere the asker seems. Some of the students seem honestly to be making an effort to be nice to me, and I appreciate it. But I don't plan on making friends.

I'm only going to be here for a little bit before I can move back in with mom when she gets out of the hospital. And then I will go back to New Jersey, and life will be good, and normal.

Until she gets out though, I have been sent to live with my dad and his significantly younger girlfriend here in this miserable place.

She's Quileute, hence why they live on the reservation.

And don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful place. Everything feels so alive, is so green, and is so different than the starving, sandy Jersey Pine Barrens. I can't help but feel that I liked my pines better.

So here, in the middle of my Algebra 2 class, I am starting to sketch them. They have very few branches. They have even fewer needles. They are sparse and bare, and my heart aches at the sight of them. The bark is burnt in some places from forest fires; I draw in a spot rubbed raw from a whitetail buck. These trees are coming together, it really looks like-

"Miss Donnell?"

The entire class giggles. My cheeks turn an unbecoming shade of fire truck red as my head jerks up towards the teacher.

"Have you not been paying paying attention in my class, Fay?"

"I, um, of course I have, sir."

"Then what is the answer to the problem on the board?"

I quickly scrutinize the whiteboard in the front of the room, thanking the universe that by a stroke of luck, I do in fact know how to do this math problem. The teacher taps his foot impatiently. What an asshole. The kid in front of me is shaking with suppressed laughter.

"X equals 14 over 4."

The teacher nods his head sharply and spins around, walking back towards the front of the classroom. I shoot a nasty glare at his balding head and silently throw curse words in his direction.

I return to my drawing.

The bell rings.

I pick up my things.

I leave for my locker.

I hope for the day I can go home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Wow, thanks for all the follows and favorites! I don't think I've ever gotten this much of a response on only one chapter! Thank you!**

**Alicesh: This whole imprint thing will be very interesting for me to write as well. Thank you for reviewing!**

**Enjoy!**

I hate walking in the halls of this high school.

Let me rephrase that, I hate _being _in this school. However, the halls are the worst place to be. Especially as a 5'2 girl, in a school filled with a majority of students over 5'6.

I feel so small, so insignificant. It's like being a bug. People don't really notice you at first, but when they do they just sort of look at you with vague disgust. It's not pleasant. Not at all.

But the halls here aren't as bad as as Seattle, I suppose. At least here people don't blatantly make fun of me. It's slightly more discreet in La Push. The people here have the courtesy to make fun of my hair, my clothes, and my accent when they think I can't hear them. How kind.

I am removed from my thoughts of loathing for this school, and the previous one, by an uncalled for shove. My shoulder smashes into a locker, the lock nicking my arm. Great, now I'm probably bleeding. I bite my lip in exasperation for the obnoxious lunatics I am forced to go to school with. I can feel my pulse quickening as my anger further sets in. Can't these idiots learn how to walk like normal human beings? There was no need for someone to shove me.

I am about ready to lose it. Ugh! This is really all too much annoyance and stress to deal with.

The mammoth that slammed me into the locker turns to me and roars with laughter. Is there something on my face? Why is he laughing? What the fuck is he looking at?

I feel my face turn 9 different shades of red, and my cheeks seem to be heating up like a stove top.

The giant just seems to be laughing even harder.

"Why did you just shove me?" I have finally snapped. Great. I hope this kid is prepared for the shitstorm of pent up anger coming his way.

His repugnant guffawing slowly ceased. He looks shocked that I can speak.

"I- I. Who do you think you are to go to our school? You don't belong here, you freak!" He stammers in a struggle to string words together.

"I think that I don't even want to be here! I think I want to go home to be with my _mom_ before she dies!" My eyes are spilling over with tears, and I can feel my voice cracking. "I am perfectly aware that none of you want me here! I don't need **you** to remind me!" I shove an accusing finger into the goliath's chest.

The boy stands there, momentarily looking remorseful, before becoming enraged and fully ready to finish our argument.

The tears are clouding my eyes, and I really can't take this anymore. I spin around, turning away, trying to wipe away my angry tears.

As I run away like the stupid little kid that I am, I hear someone yelling at the boy who I had just freaked out on. I vaguely recollect his name to be Sam.

"Paul! What the hell did you do?"

I ignore the rest as I fast-walk down the hallway, hanging a left, and pushing my way out of a door to the parking lot. I sprint across the tar slab, tears and snot streaking down my face by this point. I tear across the small lawn next to the school and trample into the woods. Branches pull at my brown pixie cut and slice up my face and hands as I shove through them, screaming in anger and frustration.

I slump against a tree, throwing down my bookbag. My knees come up to my chest, my arms wrapping around them. My head falls and I lull myself to sleep with tears.

. . .

As my eyes flicker open, all I see is black.

Damnit, I must have been out here for hours.

Maybe if I go back to sleep, I can just die out here and be done with all of this. I push away the thought.

My eyes adjust, and I stand up reaching to grab my bag. I strain to hear for any signs of other people, catching the faint hum of cars. I tromp through the woods, falling more than a few times, ripping my jeans, and cutting up my face even worse.

It is so dark. I honestly can barely fucking see.

I stumble out of the woods, on to what I presume must be a road. I am so confused, where am I?

A horn honks behind me, deafening my ears. I spin around, lifting a hand to block out the bright light the car produces. What the fuck?

The car is much too close to sto-

Holy fuck. I am going to die.

The impact is indescribable.

My left arm is aflame.

My left leg is not bending the right way.

I am in the dark once again, but this time, I am begging that I will wake up in the forest, anywhere, but here.


End file.
